Saved

by Hazel James

  “Where are we?” she asks as I pull into a parking space and turn off the engine.

  “Kailua Beach.”

  She says nothing, but unbuckles her seatbelt, so I take that as a good sign and hop out of the Jeep. I retrieve my bag and the blanket I stole off my bed. According to Google, Kailua is one of the best places on Oahu to watch the sunrise. The moment our feet hit the sand it’s easy to see why. The horizon goes on forever, accented by two tiny islands to the east that will serve as the perfect stage for nature’s upcoming performance.

  But first, apologies.

  I spread the blanket on the sand and settle next to Leilani, propping my arms on my knees to keep from touching her. “Yesterday didn’t end the way I wanted it to. I’m sorry for what you saw in the living room.”

  She keeps her focus on an old couple and their cocker spaniel walking in ankle-deep water. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Clay. What you do and who you do it with is none of my business.” Her flat tone and icy words create a wall of invisible bricks between us.

  Fuck, this is not going the way it’s supposed to. A little jealousy is good, but this much means I’ve lost the race before I’ve left the gate.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Scrubbing a hand over my face, I take a deep breath and start over. “I don’t like Quinn. I didn’t want to sit next to her or have her massage me, and I damn sure didn’t want her to kiss me.”

  “Funny, I didn’t hear you complaining or telling her to stop.”

  Guilt pulls my head down. “You’re right. I didn’t want to be rude and cause tension on the first day, so I just kept hoping she’d get the hint. After you went to bed, I grabbed my laptop to get some work done. Marshall screwed up a purchase order with one of my suppliers and I needed to fix it. Quinn kept trying to talk to me, which was as annoying as it was distracting, so it took twice as long. When I stood up and turned around to walk to my bedroom, she made sure I walked into her instead. She kissed me, not the other way around.”

  I twist my head toward Leilani. “I’m sorry I didn’t do more to prevent that from happening. All night, I kept picturing you standing in the doorway and it killed me.” My chest aches as I relive that memory. I wish they made Listerine for the brain.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I hurt you and I want to make it better.”

  Her eyes slowly meet mine. The sadness is still there, but her brows have become two imploring arcs. “Why?” she whispers.

  I brought her here to apologize, but I can’t explain why I’m sorry without telling her how I feel. They go hand-in-hand. All or nothing. With a heaping dose of brilliance or stupidity, I reach over and scoop her sideways onto my lap, lifting her chin so she can’t look away. “You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, and the fact that I made you feel anything less than that is unacceptable. I’m sorry.”

  My thumb grazes the skin beneath the swell of her bottom lip while I search her face for any hint of what her verdict will be.

  A small eternity passes before she tilts her head. “Does this mean you like me?”

  I stifle a laugh and release her chin, letting my hand fall to her hip. “Yeah. It means I like you.” Saying it out loud feels good, but seeing the corners of her mouth curve up feels even better.

  “Well, I’d hate to waste a beautiful sunrise.” She glances at the deep reds, oranges, and yellows in the sky. “So I guess I can accept your apology.” When she looks at me again, I see no traces of the shadows from last night. Relief and gratitude are my new best friends.

  “You guess, huh?” I tease, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her to my chest.

  Leilani giggles. “Your heart’s racing.”

  “I’m nervous.”

  She pulls back, slack-mouthed. “I make you nervous?”

  “You make me a lot of things.” My gravelly confession charges the air between us. Kissing her wasn’t part of my plan, but now it’s all I can think of. Her breath catches as I slide my hands up to her shoulders and run my thumbs along her collarbone. Her neck. Her jaw. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” I murmur.

  She trails her fingers up my arm, gripping my bicep to pull me closer. “Same,” she whispers.

  I take her face in my hands and—

  “Intruder alert! Intruder alert!”

  “Dammit!” she groans.

  “What’s going on?” I look around for the source of the alarm.

  “My mother’s impeccable timing is what’s going on.” Leilani slides off my lap and pulls her phone out of her purse. “Hi, Mom.” She rolls her eyes and mouths a string of curse words, but keeps her tone polite. “I’m glad you made it home, but now’s not a good time. Can I call you later?”

  The muffled voice on the other end of the line fires off a volley of questions. “Mom. Mom! Stop! I’m right in the middle of something. I promise to call you tonight, okay? Love you too.” She tosses the phone on the blanket and scowls. “Sorry. It’s like she has a damn radar pointed at me.”

  Though I share her frustration, I can’t help but smile. Leilani is fucking adorable when she pouts. “I have something that might cheer you up.”

  “A time machine?”

  “Even better. Close your eyes.” She studies me for a moment before lowering her lashes. “Are you peeking?”

  She smiles. “No.”

  “You sure?” I slowly unzip the bag I brought with me.

  She makes an X over her chest. “Cross my heart, now hurry up!”

  “Bossy, bossy,” I joke, arranging the contents on the blanket. “Okay, open.”

  She dissolves into a fit of giggles when she sees the setup in front of her. “Fruity Pebbles?”

  “This morning was important. I wasn’t above bribery.” I pour cereal into each of our paper bowls and add milk from a metal thermos. It’s not gourmet by any means, but her reaction makes me feel like a million fucking dollars.

  “When did you plan all of this?” She balances her bowl on her lap and takes a bite.

  “I spent all night thinking about what I could do and came up with this around three thirty.”

  “You didn’t sleep?”

  “I couldn’t. I kept seeing your face in the doorway. And then knowing you were sharing a room with her…” I blow out a breath. “No, I didn’t sleep.”

  “I wonder what she’ll do now that… umm…” She drops her gaze to her bowl.

  “Now that?” I prod, enjoying the hell out of teasing her. When she doesn’t finish, I take her chin and move her bottom lip, imitating her voice. “Now that I’m dating the hottest guy on the planet.”

  She laughs and swats my hand. “Let’s not get carried away.”

  “What?” I clutch my injured heart. “You mean all those times you stared at my abs, you were faking?”

  Her jaw drops. “All those times? What about the times I caught you appreciating my yoga pants?” She pops a brow and points her spoon at me. Her sassy side is so fucking sexy, and I’ve just been cursed to a life of boners every time I think of plastic cutlery.

  “They’re great pants,” I say.

  “Well, I guess your abs are okay… if you’re into the eight-pack look.”

  It’s my turn to raise a brow. “How do you know what I’m packing?” I catch her quick assessment of my shorts and bark out a laugh as her face skips every shade of pink, moving straight to scarlet.

  “Anywaaaay,” she rolls her eyes, “you never did answer my question. You think Quinn will be upset?”

  “It won’t matter. She’s not staying.”

  Leilani wrinkles her forehead. “She already talked to you?”

  “No, I’m telling her when we get back. Battles is my baby and this project is a direct reflection of its mission. I need people who are here for the right reasons.”

  And I don’t want Leilani feeling uncomfortable all week, but that’s irrelevant at this point.

  “It just sucks because now I’m down a chef.”


  She sets her bowl aside. “What kind of stuff was Quinn going to do in the kitchen?”

  “Cooking lessons with the kids. So many of them are responsible for younger siblings, so she was going to teach them easy meals. I’ll have to get with the Helping Hawaii staff before orientation to see if we can get someone local to step in. The kids shouldn’t suffer because Quinn screwed up.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “You’ll cook?”

  Leilani nods. “You, Marshall, and Rebecca might tease me for my love affair with junk food, but I know my way around a kitchen. I can get some recipes from my mom when I talk to her later today. That might help take the sting out of telling her I’m in Hawaii, now that I think about it.”

  Logistically speaking, it’s the perfect idea. I had my events planned before I invited Leilani, so her moving to another area won’t be a problem. She’ll do more good there anyway. I can’t think of a better way to teach these kids that physical injuries don’t have to be a barrier in life.

  My brain wants to say something like “thank you” or “that’d be perfect,” but my heart is standing by with “I love you” and “will you marry me right fucking now.” For safety’s sake, I shovel more cereal in my mouth until I can trust myself to speak.

  “Remind me to send your mom a thank you card,” I say several bites later.

  “For the recipes?”

  “For annoying the shit out of you so you’d move to Oklahoma.” Setting my bowl next to hers, I rise and pull her into my arms. “I know I said it earlier, but you really are the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”

  She tips her head up and treats me to a slow smile. “I should volunteer to be a chef more often.”

  Exhaling a soft laugh, I lower my mouth to hers, one beautiful, torturous millimeter at a time, until there’s no space for words or air or anything but lips and tongues and unspoken promises. She’s not the first woman I’ve kissed, but fuck if she’s not the first one I’ve wanted to be my last.

  The Bright Side

  CLAY RAISES HIS WATER GLASS. “John and Kristin, thank you for dinner tonight, and to everyone, thank you for taking time out of your lives to come here. What started as a crazy idea one year ago turned into a week of exhaustion, but the looks on those kids’ faces made it all worth it.” His eyes move around the table and land on me. “And a special thanks to Leilani for stepping up and kicking ass in the kitchen. I heard from several people that you made one-handed cooking with fifty teenagers look easy.”

  Motivation can come from anywhere. In this case, it was a desire to represent Battles to the best of my ability. Making sure no one could say Quinn would have done a better job was just a bonus. She planned breakfast, lunch, and a dinner the kids could take back to their families, so naturally, I added dessert, too. I might have also let them eat it before dinner. I clink my glass against Clay’s. “Years of elite and collegiate gymnastics taught me how to excel under pressure.”

  “Was it hard to give that up after your accident?” Brandon asks.

  “Not really. I closed that door before I joined the Army, so I never felt like I didn’t get to finish something I loved. It just meant I couldn’t take anyone else’s money when they bet on how many back handsprings I could do.”

  Clay chuckles and shakes his head. “Why does that not surprise me?” I stick my tongue out at him, and his wink makes me want to show him how flexible I still am.

  “What do you miss the most about having two hands?” Brandon continues.

  After dreaming about Clay in a white towel last night, I’d have to go with pinching my nipple and playing with my clit at the same time. None of the brochures, support groups, or online forums had said a word about missing out on that. “Playing my guitar. It was one of my favorite things to do.”

  “Would a prosthetic arm help?” That question is from John, who has been a surgeon for almost twenty years.

  “I had one, but it’s too clunky and made my back hurt. I feel less like an amputee without it, as odd as that sounds. Thanks to my Life Skills class and a hefty dose of stubbornness, I figured out how to do just about everything.”

  “What’s Life Skills?” Kristin asks.

  “A class that teaches logistical stuff like tying my shoes, buttoning pants, cooking, eating, putting on jewelry. But for me, the hardest part was developing habits for the little things no one ever thinks about.”

  “Like what?”

  “Did you notice where the toilet paper was in the bathroom?”

  She glances up at the ceiling in thought. “No. I just know the shower was on the left and the sink was straight ahead.”

  “Exactly. You’ve never had a reason to pay attention to that. But when you’re held hostage in the restroom because you can’t reach the toilet paper with your only hand…” One by one, they connect the dots, their expressions a mix of horror and humor that lift the corners of my lips.

  “Well that’s a shitty situation.”

  “Oh, God.” Kristen facepalms at John’s joke. “We’d better leave or he’ll stay here all night doing this.”

  Her husband leans forward, cupping his hand beside his mouth, and fake-whispers, “She’s such a party pooper.”

  “Check please!” she groans.

  Undeterred, John points to the dessert menu. “Hon, didn’t you want to try the apple pie à la commode? Urine for a real treat.” She fights to keep a straight face but fails, giving in to a resigned smile that makes John pump his fist in victory.

  I’m going to miss this group and our nightly dinners. Maybe it’s the soldier in me, but there’s something about people from different backgrounds joining together for a common cause that makes me feel like I have a purpose.

  That’s not to say I wasn’t overwhelmed this week. During orientation, we learned some staggering statistics about poverty in Hawaii that made our mission of helping fifty teenagers seem pointless. Clay drew a quarter-sized starfish on the inside of my wrist to remind me that while we couldn’t save everyone, we could help some very deserving kids—and in typical Clay fashion, he retraced his drawing every morning so I’d have a boost of inspiration any time I needed it.

  I love that he thinks of unique ways to help people, even when he’s not at work. And the best part is he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. It just happens. It’s as natural for him as breathing, which is probably why Battles has been so successful.

  Well, that and he’s a walking billboard for health and fitness. Nothing says, “get a membership to my gym” like a man with muscles like his.

  “What are you smiling about?” Clay asks, his lips an inch from my ear. Jesus, his voice should be classified as a deadly weapon.

  Warning: May cause spontaneous orgasm.

  “Oh, just a hot co-worker.”

  “Hmm. How hot are we talking?”

  With a wicked gleam, I lift my hand and move my thumb and pointer finger an inch a part.

  “That’s it?” he challenges. “You sure it’s not something more like this?” He props his elbow on the table and places his fingers between mine, pushing them farther apart.

  “I don’t know, that’s pretty hot. I’ll have to check and get back with you.”

  “Why don’t we—”

  “Ahem.” Clay and I turn our heads to find John, Kristin, and Brandon staring at us, each wearing an amused expression. “You two ready?” John asks.

  “One sec.” I grab the black check folder and scribble a message to the waitress on the back of our receipt, then follow the team outside.

  “What was that?” Clay asks, helping me into the Jeep.

  “Today’s random act of Clayness.”

  He lifts a brow.

  “Kindness, Clayness. Same thing.” I tap the screen on my phone and show him a picture of the list he wrote. “Day nine is paper, so I wrote her a note.”

  “You’ve been keeping up with that?”

  “Every day.”

  He opens his mouth like he’s going to say somethi
ng, but instead kisses my cheek and mumbles the word “incredible” as he shuts my door. We cruise along the curves of Kamehameha Highway in comfortable silence until he passes the road to the hotel.

  “You missed the turn.”

  “We’re not going back yet.”

  “Oh?”

  He smirks but remains quiet, driving several more miles until we reach Sunset Beach. We came here last Friday after we finished paddle boarding. I’ve heard people use the phrase “breathtaking sunset” before, but I’d never experienced it until that day. I’m glad we get to see it again before we leave, to end our trip the way it began.

  Clay retrieves a bag from the glove box and leads us down to the water as the sun begins its final descent. I will my brain to memorize every detail, but there’s too much to take in. The warmth. The breeze. The sand. The man sitting next to me, brushing his thumb over the faded starfish on my wrist. Everything about this moment is perfect.

  And as the next wave washes ashore, it suddenly hits me.

  This week—hell, this summer—never would have happened if I didn’t lose my arm and get cancer.

  I wouldn’t have met fifty incredible teenagers who will think about the lessons they learned at camp every time they make loco moco or macaroni salad.

  I wouldn’t have met Clay.

  I’m here in this little piece of paradise, not in spite of everything that has happened to me, but because of it.

  Because of it.

  Gratitude surges through me, washing away the bitterness and anger I’ve clung to for years. I don’t realize I’m crying until Clay wipes my cheeks. “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “You don’t need to apologize.”

  He repositions himself behind me and pulls my back into his chest, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I could live a thousand lifetimes and never get tired of the way this feels. “How did you know I needed this? I didn’t even know.”

  “You do numbers, I do people, remember?” He said the same thing in the bathroom on my first day of work. God, that feels like forever ago. “Still,” he continues, “there was no guarantee you’d figure out my secret.”